


Untitled Sam/Crowley

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sam Winchester, Angry Sex, Crayons, Interrogation, M/M, Scrap, Snark, brainburp, under 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam/Crowley, season nine, less than 500 words.</p><p>  <i>"It was enticing. Absolutely alluring, the thought. Crowley felt the corners of his mouth tug up, that smug delight at making a deal running through him. Made his toes tingle in anticipation."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Sam/Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the beginning of season nine, when Crowley's all neatly tied up in the bunker with his crayon and his piece of paper. And the sass. So much sass. This is basically me saying, "What if he didn't want Sam's blood? What if he just wanted Sam?" 
> 
> Honestly, I wanted it to act as an end scene for a bigger fic that I never got around to writing, but it's a good bit of dirty fic, nonetheless.

“Oh, blow me, moose,” Crowley spat.

A pregnant pause filled the dark air.

Finally, Sam broke the silence. “Would that make you talk?”

And wow, Crowley was not often thrown for a loop—he was the King of Hell, no matter what that psychotic bitch Abaddon said, he wasn’t new at deviancy games. But fucking a _Winchester_. Those were levels only denizens of Heaven had yet sunk to. 

It was enticing. Absolutely alluring, the thought. Crowley felt the corners of his mouth tug up, that smug delight at making a deal running through him. Made his toes tingle in anticipation.

“Maybe.”

As Sam flipped the table aside angrily—oh, this would be _fun_ —Crowley muttered something about what dear old Dean would think, his baby brother on his knees for none other than the King of the Crossroads himself. 

How Sam had to fold in on himself, to make himself low enough to subjugate himself. It was a thing of beauty. The angry bite as Crowley laughed wickedly, and God _damn_ , but there would be a bruise there. This was a whole new level, even for Sam Winchester, because at least he’d thought Ruby was good at the time. This? This was beautiful, simple pragmatism. This was Hell, and shooting his load down the throat of a Winchester was sitting at his desk with his Blackberry and a pile of contracts in his in-tray.

Watching the moose wipe his mouth—he _swallowed_ , this day just kept getting better—made Crowley’s mind up for him.

“Names,” Sam rasped out, lunging for the crayon and paper, thrusting them at Crowley.

Shit-eating grin firmly plastered on his face, Crowley scribbled down one name. Sam stood up, hands clenching and unclenching fists at his side as he drew himself up to his full height. “ _Names_ ,” he gritted out, and Crowley chuckled, nudging the paper along his thigh toward Sam. 

“See you tomorrow, luv,” he replied, and Sam’s tongue darted out to wet his lips before he snatched the paper away, striding his gigantor-strides out of the dungeon.

Ah, yes. This could be the start of a beautiful…business arrangement. Crowley’s inner bureaucrat was singing.


End file.
